Mi Casa Es Su Casa
by Svetlanacat
Summary: There is a key on Illya's desk...
1. Chapter 1

"It's... a key..." Illya Kuryakin stated, frowning at the silvery thing.

"Amazing sense of observation, Sherlock..", Napoleon Solo chuckled; " It's the key to my apartment."

The Russian tilted his head, still considering the key dubiously.

"It won't explode, you know. It's just... a key..."

Illya Kuryakin looked unusually stumped. He bit his lower lip, "What do you mean by giving me a key, Napoleon?"

"It's just..." Napoleon picked up the key and held it out to the other man. "You're my partner. My friend. You can come over whenever you want." He grimaced comically, "I don't have anything to hide from you."

The Russian took the key, still hesitating.

"Illya, it's kind of a family tradition... Mi casa es su casa..." He paused and put his hand on his friend's arm. "It doesn't mean that you have to come..." He released his grip, "and it doesn't mean either that you have to give me yours..."

"Oh...", Illya Kuryakin hissed softly.


	2. Chapter 2 Friendship

_The more he thought about it, the more he felt confused. What would be right? What would be wrong?_

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

Alexander Waverly stood in the hallway, considering his agent. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Er... No, sir!"

The hesitation was barely noticeable, but Waverly didn't miss it. "What is it about? Did someone say something..."

"No, sir, no. It's..." The Russian shook his head, "Really, it's nothing."

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

It was no use trying to dodge the question.

"I'm sorry, it's... stupid. Napoleon... Mr. Solo..." Illya Kuryakin stopped. He was making a fool of himself... But the pale blue eyes were literally pinning him to the wall. "Mr. Solo gave me a key of his apartment."

Unexpectedly, Waverly smiled. "Oh... He did that..."

"I told you, sir... It's nothing. I'm wasting your time and..."

"He never did that, you know?... Mr; Solo is used to have a drink with his partners, to have dinner, to invite them, but this...", the Old Man patted his agent's shoulder, "this, he never did. Everybody know Mr. Solo's cheerful demeanor. He could look like to be an outgoing person. But he likes his privacy. Home is a place where he can be himself, kind of a safe harbor." Waverly waved his pipe. "Mr. Kuryakin, he trust it to you... which means that you made a friend. A very good one..."

"He told me that... and..."

"And?"

"He told me that I didn't have to give him mine..."

He could have sworn that Waverly's eyes had just sparkled.

"Oh... he told that... So, everything's as fine as could be..."

And he walked away.

_Everything's as fine as could be? _

_Really?_


	3. Chapter 3 Memories

A key.

An inestimable opportunity to have your own place; A place where you could be alone, quiet and free. A place where you could be yourself. "_Safe harbor_", Waverly said. Yes.

A key.

Safety, tranquility, privacy and freedom.

As a kid, he couldn't remember about any door being locked. He smiled at the memory of his never deserted childhood home.

As a student, then during his tenure in the Soviet Navy, he had to share rooms with others. No keys to lock the closets. No keys to lock the room.

No safety, no tranquility, no privacy, no freedom.

And one day, -he'd remember it forever -, an old lady had held out a huge key to him, peeping at him over her glasses.

"_Voilà. C'est la clef de votre chambre. Les toilettes et la douche sont là. Et... jeune homme... pas trop de visites, hein?_"

("Here it is, the key to you bedroom. The gents and the bathroom are here. And, young man... not too many visitors, Mmmm?")

It was small, very small – a so huge key and a so tiny place -, at the very top – endless staircase...- of an old building, in the Quartier Latin.

But it was a place for his own.

A place where he could read.

A place where he could write.

A place where he could work.

A place where he could brood.

A place where he could remember.

A place where he could laugh and cry.

Safety, tranquility, privacy and freedom.

Visitors? Oh, no.

Illya Kuryakin considered the sparkling brand new key. "_It doesn't mean that you have to give me yours!", _Napoleon said. He cracked a smile and shook his head. Of course, he had to.

He had to and... he wanted to.

Napoleon Solo was his American partner. As the New York H.Q. C.E.A., he was his superior though he never pulled rank. Napoleon was clever, skilled, efficient, charming and often infuriating. He was his partner and his friend. A man who trusted his own safety, his own tranquility, his own privacy, his own freedom to him.

Not a "visitor".

A friend.

The Russian put his spare key on his partner's desk.


End file.
